


Those Aren't Toys Firefly

by ChroniclesOfJan



Category: Original Work
Genre: Fluff, Going away party, Grandparents & Grandchildren, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm trying my best, Inktober 2020, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Universe, POV First Person, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Short & Sweet, Wholesome, blade - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26864506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChroniclesOfJan/pseuds/ChroniclesOfJan
Summary: There was also the story of his first pocket knife, which Grandpap gave Pap when he was 10, right before his first hunting trip. It was a generic brown knife he had picked up from Sears, but Pap kept it with him everyday. Last I had seen of it, it was kept in a small velvet bag in a small wooden box.Pap always had a knife on him, no matter where he went; restaurants, the front porch, family Christmases. He had big ones, small ones, engraved ones, worn ones, and ones he’d barely used. There really was a knife for any occasion.****I have absolutely no idea how to write a summary, but this is a lot cuter than it lets on.
Kudos: 1
Collections: Inktober 2020 - Hallmark Types





	Those Aren't Toys Firefly

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry Day 5 is late! I got really into procrastinating, and didn't finish my actual homework until 11:45. Thanks for understanding, and here is Day 5: Blade!

My pap was a hunter for as long as I could remember. He tried to get me to go out with him once, but I just couldn’t bring myself to pull the trigger on Bambi. 

He would tell me stories about him, his father, and his brothers and their hunting trips. There was the summer where him and his younger brother tried to eat nothing but deer jerky for a week straight. Great Uncle Roger gave up after three days, but Pap saw the challenge through until the bitter end. 

There was also the story of his first pocket knife, which Grandpap gave Pap when he was 10, right before his first hunting trip. It was a generic brown knife he had picked up from Sears, but Pap kept it with him everyday. Last I had seen of it, it was kept in a small velvet bag in a small wooden box. 

Pap always had a knife on him, no matter where he went; restaurants, the front porch, family Christmases. He had big ones, small ones, engraved ones, worn ones, and ones he’d barely used. There really was a knife for any occasion.

I can remember sitting on his lap in his recliner and holding onto one of his pocket knives, blade safely tucked away. It was heavy in my 5-year-old hand, and way too large for any of my child pockets.

I tried to open the knife like I had seen my Uncle Mark do, but it wouldn’t flick out like I wanted. I glared down at the tiny offender as I heard a chuckle behind me. Suddenly two hands snaked around me, and well-practiced fingers undid the mechanism that let the knife fold open. Pap took it in his hand and twirled it around for me to see.

“These aren’t toys, Firefly, so if you see one, don’t touch it, and just find me. Alright?” I nodded at him, eyes still fixed on the old worn-down blade. 

It was ironic if you think about it, because I don’t know how often I saw him playing and fiddling around with the blade. 

_ ‘Aren’t toys my ass, old man.’ _ But of course, I kept my mouth shut.

I didn’t reallt touch a pocket knife again until my going away party for college. I was headed cross-country with nothing but a suitcase and a scholarship. I was beyond excited, but also terrified as hell.

People had been dropping by to give their well-wishes for the better part of an hour, and our house was full of people, and food, and laughter. I saw my Pap sitting out on the back porch all alone, away from all the noise. Grabbing some punch, I wordlessly slipped out the back door and joined him. He smiled at me as I handed him the glass and sat down.

“Hey Firefly, a good host shouldn’t be out sitting with old farts.”

“I can take a quick break, something tells me Mom can handle them.” He snorted at that.

“Yeah, I s’pose you’re right. Actually, I’ve got a gift for you, Firefly.” I shifted to frown at him as he reached into his back pocket.

“Pap, Gram already gave me your guys' gift? You didn’t need to get me anything else.” Pulling the gift out from behind his back, he gave me a smirk as he handed over the small blob wrapped in newspaper.

“Ignore the wrapping and give it a look. This is more from me than Grandma.” Unfurling the newspaper, a small hunk of shiny metal fell into my hands. It took me a second to realize what it was: a pocket knife.

It had a simple black case, but it was when I opened it that I let a few tears slip. Engraved on the metal in Pap’s curt handwriting was ‘Firefly.’ I looked back up at him.

“Now you know,” he started, “those aren’t toys.” I snorted as I pulled him into a hug. “Give ‘em hell out there Firefly,” he whispered. I could only hug him tighter.


End file.
